Results
by lovablegeek
Summary: [PreRENT] We never think about the results of our actions until it's too late. BennyRoger, RogerApril, BennyAlison. [One shot]


Running his fingers lightly down Roger's arms, Benny stopped and frowned when his fingertips brushed over the track marks near the bend of his arm. True, he probably should have been used to them by now, when Roger had had such marks for as long as Benny had known him, but nevertheless... His eyes flickered down to the track marks, the newest clearly visible against the light skin of Roger's forearms. Benny's eyes lingered on the marks until Roger pulled his arm away and lightly lifted Benny's chin with two fingers. Benny gave him a faint, slightly pained smile.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," he said quietly. Roger responded with one of his shining, brilliant grins, the kind he gave someone when trying to distract them, when trying to direct the subject of a conversation to matters of _his_ choosing. He was so charming, and so utterly sincere with that smile, it often worked.

"Do what? Touch you? Because I'm kind of enjoying that." His hand slipped from Benny's face, down his chest to rest on his leg, thumb tracing circles on Benny's pants, perilously high up on his thigh. It almost worked, and had before, but... not this time. Benny took a step backwards, giving Roger a look to let him know he was serious about this, he _meant_ it. Roger's smile faded almost immediately, replaced be a slightly clenched jaw and a stubborn expression — already preparing himself for a fight, and Benny hadn't said a word yet.

"No. _That._" He shot a significant glance at Roger's bare forearms. April at least usually wore long sleeves, but Roger never bothered to cover them up, never seemed to _care_, or give a shit if anyone else did. "I just... wish you'd stop. You're going to get yourself killed one of these days."

"It makes me feel good," he countered. He didn't look away from Benny's eyes, shamelessly confrontational. "It's nice to do that every now and then."

_Every now and then._ If that meant two, three times a day, if that meant needing the drug so much he'd fall apart if he didn't have it, then Roger was right. But this wasn't needing to feel good, this was addiction, and Benny knew it, and Benny couldn't say the word. "That's all you care about, isn't it? Feeling good? Does it even matter what I think?"

Roger raised an eyebrow, and Benny decided Roger bore a striking resemblance to a petulant child. "Given that it's my life, not really."

With a sigh, Benny stepped forward once more, gripping Roger by the wrists and pulling him close. "If I ever used that crap, you'd kill me."

Roger smirked a little, didn't pull his hands free of Benny but shifted a bit to press his hips against Benny's. "You wouldn't," he answered confidently. "You're the _responsible_ one, remember?"

"How could I forget?" Benny tightened his hold on Roger's wrists enough that he thought it might bruise him, but Roger didn't wince or pull away, and when Benny leaned in to kiss him, Roger all but lunged forward, his kiss fierce, as much teeth as lips and tongue. This was Roger's end to all arguments, important or minor, bruises and teeth marks and oh God...

Benny pulled away enough to whisper, "April's not coming home?"

Roger shook his head. "Away for the weekend. Now stop. Fucking. Talking."

Benny decided to listen to him.

* * *

"What the hell is your _problem_?" Benny demanded, staring at Roger in sheer disbelief. In most circumstances he wouldn't have raised his voice quite that much, but the only one else in the loft just then was Mark, who just glanced between Roger and Benny (the two of them had been arguing for some time, gradually getting louder and louder), quietly got up off the couch, walked to his room, and closed the door. Neither of them paid any attention to his departure, completely focused on each other.

"What do you _think_ my problem is?" Roger looked like he wanted to punch something, his fist clenching and unclenching at his side, and yet he didn't move one step closer to Benny, having already put the distance of the entire living room between them.

"I think the problem is that you've lost your _mind_," Benny ventured, "but I can't be certain because you have yet to say a single reasonable thing since this conversation started. Then again, that could be an indication in and of itself..."

Roger curled his hand into a fist and slammed it backwards against the wall, the heel of his palm thudding hard against it, the resulting noise so loud that the impact _must_ have hurt him. "What the fuck, Benny! You're seeing someone!"

It took Benny almost a full minute to process that simple statement. Not the words themselves, but the thoughts behind it, and whatever passed for logic in Roger's mind. He gave up at last, realizing that he wouldn't _ever_ manage to figure that out. "Yes," he said slowly, "I am. What's your point?"

Roger made a series of annoyed, more than a little over dramatic gestures that, more than getting his point across, simply bemused Benny. "You don't think I might be a little upset by that?"

"No?"

"Why the hell not?"

Benny gestured vaguely, palm up, expression utterly baffled. "Because... because that would be what we call hypocrisy, Roger. _You're_ seeing someone. Her name is April. Remember her?"

Roger shook his head, at last moving toward Benny once more, walking across the room until he reached the table, which stood between him and Benny, and stopping there. "That's different." He leaned against the table, hands flat on the tabletop.

"_How_ is it different?"

Roger was leaning forward slightly, arms straight as he braced himself against the table, and he simply shrugged, his eyes meeting Benny's levelly. "I was seeing April _before_. You just started seeing this... this _woman_."

"She has a _name_!"

"That I don't care about. The point is not whether she has a name, the point is..." He fell silent for a couple of seconds, and momentarily looked away from Benny, frowning slightly.

"You don't have a point, do you?"

"No, I do!" Roger shook one finger at Benny, possibly just to preclude any further interruption. "My point is, I want you to _stop_ seeing her."

"Why?"

Roger spread his hand flat on the table once more, fingers splayed out on the bare metal. "Because you're _mine_," he said forcefully. "You were mine first."

Before Benny could reply, the door to Mark's bedroom swung open again. "Um, guys?" he asked as he stuck his head out. "I can _hear_ you. And... I don't think I want to. So can you... maybe... be a little quieter?" He didn't wait for either of them to reply, simply stepped back into his room and closed the door again.

Benny blinked at Mark's bedroom door for a minute before turning back to Roger with a sigh. "It's my life," he said curtly. "I don't think it matters what you think."

* * *

Roger had refused to go to the wedding — probably for the best — but Benny came by the loft the next day, determined to talk to him, to defuse any potential anger or annoyance or resentment Roger might feel. Although he no longer lived there, Benny didn't knock before he opened the door, and didn't pause before stepping inside. He had always done so before and no one had ever minded, so why bother knocking or waiting? This time, perhaps, that mindset may have been a mistake.

He didn't walk in when Roger had the needle in his arm, or as he was about to shoot up, either of which might have actually been worse, but it was enough walking in just as Roger set the needle down on the coffee table — he hadn't even bothered going to his own room to do that. He looked up as Benny stepped inside, met his eyes without the slightest trace of shame or awkwardness, and as soon as the needle dropped onto the table with a soft clink, sat back, calmly untying the tourniquet from around his upper arm. "Shouldn't you be with _Muffy_?" he asked with a bit of a sneer.

"Her name is Alison," Benny answered sharply, fighting not to look at the needle or the fresh track mark on Roger's arm, though both were hard to ignore. "And I came to talk to you. If it's a bad time..." He trailed off, aware that a good deal of sarcasm had crept into his own voice in response to Roger's hostility.

Roger sat back on the couch, closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the couch, and for a moment Benny thought Roger was just going to sit there and ignore him, but then he spoke, still keeping his eyes closed. "Talk. What do you want to talk about?"

"You have no reason to be upset with me, Roger," Benny snapped, tempted to step around the table to smack him, but he stayed where he was, one hand gripping his opposite wrist, determined to stand right there and act like a mature adult, something he _knew_ he couldn't expect from Roger.

"I'm not upset," Roger said simply, still without opening his eyes. "I'm just _fine_."

Benny snorted and rolled his eyes. "Yes, being high would do that, I suppose. And you being fine... that explains why you've barely spoken to me in the past month."

At last Roger opened his eyes, though they were still half lidded, his expression faintly scornful. "Being high's got nothing to do with it. Does make it a hell of a lot easier when I don't have to think about how you're an idiot."

"What?"

"She doesn't love you, Benny," Roger all but growled, his eyes never wavering from Benny's face. "You can pretend all you want, but that won't change." It was something Roger never would have said sober, Benny knew, but having a normal conversation with Roger when he was high was less likely than a cold day in the middle of July. The thing he wasn't sure about, looking at Roger, was whether or not he was actually serious, or simply trying to get under his skin.

"And you love April? Or me?"

The question fell flat, as they both realized there could be no answer to that which would satisfy either of them.

* * *

"Benny?"

Benny froze at the rough, faltering voice on the phone, a voice he barely recognized as Roger's. Furthermore, Roger hadn't called him since... well, ever. Roger _never_ used the phone if he could help it, and especially had not called Benny since he'd moved out. "Yes?"

"I, uh... You need to get yourself tested, Benny."

"Tested? Roger, what—"

"For... uh... HIV. Just do it. I'm serious." The phone clicked before Benny could reply, leaving him holding the phone, listening to the dial tone.

It wasn't until later that he found out the reason for that call, found out about April's suicide and the note she left — found out from Mark, because Roger refused to speak to anyone. It wasn't until then that he decided to listen to Roger, that he went to get tested... and it was then that he decided to stop by the loft to see Roger. Mark looked at him, startled when he walked in — he'd used the key he still had to get in.

"Where's Roger?" he asked, his voice muted.

"His room," Mark answered, pointing to Roger's door. "If you go in there, just... I don't know, be careful what you say to him. He's not taking things well." Benny noticed Mark was rubbing at his wrist, where Benny could see a suspicious hand-shaped red mark...

"I will," he said, and walked into Roger's room without saying a word more. Roger didn't look up as he entered.

"What do you want?"

He sat on the bed next to Roger, watching him solemnly. "I wanted to talk to you."

"About?" he still wouldn't look at Benny, and his voice sounded distanced, not particularly interested in the answer to his question.

"I really don't know," Benny said after some thought, and attempted a smile. Roger didn't look at him, so it fell flat and quickly faded.

"You get tested?" Roger asked hoarsely.

"Yeah."

"You... heard anything?" He lifted his head a little, watching Benny from the corner of his eye.

"Not for another week and a half."

Roger made a soft, noncommittal noise and ran his fingers through his hair, one of those rare nervous gestures of his. His hair was getting long, and darker than it had been the last time Benny saw him. Given that, and Mark's comment, and Roger's hollow-eyed look, he had the feeling he hadn't left the house in some time. "Does it bother you?"

"What?"

"Waiting."

Benny sighed and looked down. "A little, I guess. Not much I can do about it, is there?"

"No. Listen, if there's nothing you wanted to say, I'd really rather you just..."

"Yeah. I'll go." He stood up slowly and looked down at Roger, who wouldn't meet his eyes. He didn't know what prompted his next question, but the words came out before he could stop to think about them. "Was all of this worth it? Feeling good every now and then?"

Roger stuck up his middle finger, which Benny ignored as he turned to walk out the door.

* * *

A week and a half later, Benny stared down at the test results, frozen and rooted in place by that single, impossible word that he'd feared and yet hadn't really believed would come: positive.

Slowly, he sank into his chair, the paper shaking in his hand. This could not be happening, because things like this _did not_ happen to him. Things like this happened to other people, people not Benjamin Coffin III. And yet there was that word, unbelievable and terrifying as hell. _Maybe it's wrong. Maybe it's a false positive or... or..._

And who would he tell? Collins? Roger? Alison? How could he even say the words, speak to any of them? He started to reach for the phone, but stopped himself after a second. Instead, he calmly folded the paper, ignoring the shaking of his hands, and just as calmly put the paper in one of his desk drawers and closed it, also ignoring the surge of anger and fear and a dozen other emotions warring for primacy in his mind. He should go talk to Roger again. He should tell Alison. He should call Collins, his best friend, the person who would perhaps best understand this... but he couldn't. He found he could do nothing, really, but sit there, and stare at the desk drawer he'd put the results in, and fight for calm that would not come.


End file.
